


Testimonies For Your Insanities

by darlingsdream



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Assassination Attempt(s), Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Enemies, GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap Friendship (Video Blogging RPF), Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mutual Pining, Protective Dream, Protective George, Slow Build, assassin!dream
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:27:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28785669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlingsdream/pseuds/darlingsdream
Summary: It happened so suddenly that it practically left him breathless. Golden light shot from the wound, encasing the two dramatically. George thought faintly that this is what heaven must've looked like as the golden rays reached his skin, filling him with warmth. Below him, there was a raspy gasp as Sapnap shot up like a bolt of lightning had hit him.As the golden light dissipated, Sapnap met his eyes fearfully, his eyes wide. "You're one of them," he'd whispered horsily, grasping at George's hand with enough force to break it. "We've got to get out of here."After that moment, as the two of them ran through the battlefield with a shield of gold protecting them, George was put on Jshlatt's hit list, Sapnap added as an acquaintance.The one thing that neither of them expected was to have Jshlatt's best assassin sent after their heads.----Dream had one job, and that was to eliminate all possible threats to Jshaltt's rule; George just so happened to be one of those threats.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 44





	Testimonies For Your Insanities

**Author's Note:**

> Starting off, I would like to make the disclaimer that this is purely fiction made for entertainment purposes. I understand that in reality Dream and George are just friends and that's all they want to be! If either Dream or George come forward and say the shipping makes them uncomfortable, I will take this down.
> 
> You can also find this work on my wattpad account @darlingsdream titled "Testimonies For Your Insanities"
> 
> As a disclaimer, I don't believe this will be a light read. I wanted to write an angsty assassin/magic au. I suggest that if you're of the faint of heart, you steer away from this book!

George knew from the moment he had stepped foot on the battlefield that day, rushing over to Sapnap's feeble and lifeless body, that his life would change into something that was nothing more than misery and helplessness. He knew well enough what he was putting at stake that day, and yet, there was nothing he would change, even with the life he lived currently. If he had to he would live that day a thousand times over and change nothing. Nothing could change his mind; he knew that he made the right choice to save Sapnap.

In this world, you were either normal and submissive to the ruler or you were marked for death. The moment that he had came into this world, he was branded with the kiss of death. As long as he breathed, he would do nothing but run and hide from the truth of what he truly was. No matter the way he saw his ruler, no matter how submissive he was, he would only ever be seen as a threat.

The story went like this: In this world, you were nothing but a loyal subject of the triennial ruler, Jshlatt. He ruled over every waking moment of your life, whether you were but a simple townsperson or one of his many servants in the capital. He was your savor, after all. He picked up and put together the world once more when he had torn himself apart, and for that, you were supposed to be grateful to him.

Jshlatt feared nothing and no one, or so he said. Jshlatt feared one thing, the one thing that would be able to stop his reign: magic. It was ironic that his one fear was magic when the entire world was made of nothing but magic. While he didn't fear the magic of the world itself, like the monsters it produced, he feared those that were able to manipulate the magic that their planet radiated. 

Those who held the ability to bend the world at their fingertips. Magic users, enchanters and enchantresses as they were marked, came one in a million. People believed that they were blessed with a gift from the angels above, that they were chosen with a purpose. 

Their purpose was to keep the world in harmony. 

When Jshlatt came to power, his first order was simple: execute all magic users. With them gone, he could easily manipulate his subjects without the fear of being over-ruled. 

George had managed to hide his gift for eighteen years. He enlisted himself into Jshlatt's army, hoping that serving for the ruler would make him less of a threat. He fought against the rebels that lived just out of Jshlatt's territory. He never wanted to use his powers, he never wanted to die. He did what he had to do to survive. He thought he could easily slip under the radar, live a somewhat normal life, and die on his own terms. The moment he watched his only friend in this world hit the ground in a bloody heap, he knew that he couldn't keep his existent a secret any longer. 

Sapnap had died as soon as the bullet grazed his neck; it was a scarily accurate shot, puncturing a main artery. 

He didn't think. He acted on impulse, pumping his legs as fast as they could go through the battlefield. He dodged the tens of fallen soldiers, ignored the pleading helps of the people who he supposedly sided with. No one else in this world mattered to him like Sapnap did. 

When the bullets started coming his way; he finally snapped. He dove for his friends body, his knees skidding across the gravel. With trembling hands, he tenderly picked Sapnap's head up, placing it gingerly on his bloodied knee. Sapnap's face was lifeless, his eyes screwed shut as blood slipped down his forehead and from the gaping hole in his neck. All the color had already been drained from his face, his hair sticking to the dark crimson liquid on his forehead. 

He didn't think after that; he acted. He didn't think about the consequences of what his actions were about to bring when he felt his fingertips tingle. He didn't care, he would run for the rest of his life if it meant saving Sapnap. He wasn't scared as he watched the familiar gold spill from his fingertips. As he manipulated the energy around them, all he could think about was bringing him back. He didn't want to be alone again. He reached out to the world, taking all the energy he could before pushing it towards the open wound. 

It happened so suddenly that it practically left him breathless. Golden light shot from the wound, encasing the two dramatically. George thought faintly that this is what heaven must've looked like as the golden rays reached his skin, filling him with warmth. Below him, there was a raspy gasp as Sapnap shot up like a bolt of lightning had hit him. 

As the golden light dissipated, Sapnap met his eyes fearfully, his eyes wide. "You're one of them," he'd whispered horsily, grasping at George's hand with enough force to break it. "We've got to get out of here." 

After that moment, as the two of them ran through the battlefield with a shield of gold protecting them, George was put on Jshlatt's hit list, Sapnap added as an acquaintance. 

The one thing that neither of them expected was to have Jshlatt's best assassin sent after their heads.

* * *

_Truthfully, George knew that he was smart. He knew he was more intelligent than he had been that day specifically. He'd dropped his walls down too soon, acted too carelessly. There was no need for him to care for a stranger, and that is what ultimately lead to his downfall._

* * *

Calloused and beaten hands at work, pulling and tugging at fabric. His eyes followed every movement, from the way their hands stretched out the wrap to the way they'd yank it apart, bringing the fabric to purpled skin. Tentative hands at work, wrapping a greatly bruised ankle. If he'd known any better he'd guess it was fractured. He was no doctor, after all, but he'd seen his fair share of injuries to make an educated guess.

It was times like these that he wondered if he'd made the right choice. His comrade always told him that he did make the right choice, but it never felt like he did. By doing what he did— _by saving his life_ — all he'd done was mark the rest of their lives for misery. If he'd let Sapnap die on the battlefield that day at least he would have gone out in peace. He wouldn't have been spending the rest of his years running from the inevitable like he was forced to now.

Not a day went by where George didn't feel guilty. Of course, he was grateful he'd been able to bring him back, but was it truly worth it? All he'd done was bring back his friend into a world that would be ten times as worse. He didn't make his friend's life any better by bringing him back. If anything, the decision he made seemed selfish. He'd saved Sapnap, but at what cost? He'd brought his friend back so _he_ didn't feel alone— _so that he wasn't alone in this world again_. That was selfish, wasn't it? What did Sapnap gain from living a life of running?

He dragged Sapnap into a life he never asked to be in. Did that make him a bad person?

He felt like a bad person. Even now, curled up on the floor of a dirty subway with Sapnap tucked against his side, he felt like the worst person to ever exist. His eyes wavered over Sapnap's hands for a moment longer before he was turning his attention to the empty rails in front of him.

"You should let me go find the rest area," he suddenly suggests, his throat feeling hoarse. "You shouldn't be walking around on your ankle."

A shaky sigh left his comrade, a quiet breath of laughter following. "It's fine, it doesn't hurt that bad," he insisted, wrapping the bandages around his ankle a little tighter. "Besides, you're the one whose easier to pick out in a crowd, you know, with the uh— _the thing._ "

_The thing._

Subconsciously, he rose his hand to the right side of his neck, fingertips dipping under the ragged fabric of his coat. He dragged the pads of his fingers over smooth skin, tracing up from his jaw down to the back of his ear before he pulled his fingers further down to slightly raised skin.

When he'd enlisted in Jshlatt's army, he'd been tattooed with a number— not by his own accord, mind you. In dark ink over peachy red skin, which never seemed to heal properly since they'd stuck him with a _rusty_ needle, read the number _404_.

Sapnap's tattoo was in a less obvious place than his was. Just below his wrist, right where you could easily feel his pulse, read the number _809_. For him, it was easy to hide with sleeves in gloves. George didn't quite have that luxury. Whoever had tattooed him seemed to have a personal vendetta against him seeing as they not only put the tattoo in such an obvious place but gave him an infection from the disgusting needle as well. Most turtle necks covered the area, but even then, it wasn't hard to miss the peaks of the 4's peaking up from the fabric. He wore a fair amount of puffy coats and coats with tall collars to cover it though, but even then it wasn't enough.

"I would be fine. You don't know how accurate those coordinates are, for all you know you could be traveling around all day."

"If I stayed behind and waited, I'd have to travel around all day anyway to catch up. It doesn't matter. Once we find the place, you can heal me right up, right buddy? I can deal with the pain for a bit."

Dropping the ace wrap back into his backpack, Sapnap dropped a hand to his shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. "I'll be fine, we have this all planned out. Let's not go switching up the plan because of a little mishap."

 _A little mishap_ — which had included the two of them tumbling out of a third-story window. Right, just a _little_ mishap.

George couldn't help the pathetic chuckle that escaped him as he slumped against the cold brick wall behind him. "You're unbelievable, you know that?"

"I know, you wouldn't want me any other way though, _right_?"

The moment Sapnap had gotten his backpack situated and packed up, they were both getting to their feet with a shared nod. Thankfully, neither of them stood out in the bustling crowd, not with their dull-colored clothes and their low hanging heads. It didn't take the pair long to find the exit. They scaled the stairs back to the surface of the land, George lending his shoulder to Sapnap to hold onto to avoid putting too much pressure on his ankle. When they breached the surface, they were greeted by an overwhelmingly packed city. Hundreds of people were walking the streets practically shoulder to shoulder with one another.

"Once I find the place, I'll send you the coordinates on the communicator," Sapnap whispered into his ear, parting from his shoulder. "The pub should just be down the street from here, a few blocks down. Message me when you get in, alright?"

And so, they went their separate ways. Sapnap was swept into the crowd going to the right while George stepped in line with those going to the left. George hated it when they separated. He hated the idea of either of them being alone if something were to happen. At least he had the ability to protect himself— not that Sapnap couldn't, of course, but he did have quite the advantage than his more than mortal comrade did.

True to Sapnap's word and the intel they'd gathered from the last location they'd ransacked, George made it to the doorstep of "The Kings Arm" pub. From what they'd gathered, it was a popular pub for those of the rebellion. Even if George could just get a single ounce of intel, he could call it a day. 

They'd been searching for four months at this point for intel about the rebellion. Despite having fought against rebels on the battlefield, they found it incredibly hard to find anyone who knew anything more about them. They knew well enough they couldn't continue living like this— hoping from location to location in hopes of string away from Jshlatt's radar. 

From what they'd heard from the grapevine, the rebels had a safe-haven; a place much unlike Jshlatt's territory. It was a folks' tale that "The Blade's Haven" even existed. Growing up, he'd heard about it before. Just beyond Jshlatt's territory, beyond the ruins of what used to be America, across the oceans of what used to be the Atlantic, would be a land of freedom. Rebels would be sent from the haven to recruit more members. For years, they were planning an uprising— an invasion, if you would.

During George's time as a "soldier," he fought off armies of rebels that were coming to conquer outstanding land. Those rebels were ruthless, saying that they were fighting to make a difference.

_Little had he known that those armies were just distractions from the bigger picture that was unfolding._

George knew that if they could find them, and somehow convince them to let them join them, he could keep Sapnap safe. He also knew that he could provide aid to the rebellion. He always knew he could, but of course, he actually wanted to live rather than follow some folks' tale and join and perish at the hands of some assassin for trying to leave Jshlatt's territory. For all he knew, it could just be wasteland beyond Jshlatt's territory— but at this point, he had nothing more to lose.

Opening the door, he was greeted by the smell of honey whiskey and steak. The place was busy with people, each table practically full. The hostess gave him a kind smile and a pleasant wave. "Hello! Feel free to seat yourself, a waitress will be with you in just a moment!"

He nodded toward her, giving her a curt 'thank you' before he made his way down the stairs toward the main area of the pub. It didn't take him long to find an open seat, as a single table for two had been left open.

For a while, he sat in silence, reveling in the chaos around him. Sadly, he found comfort in big grounds, their conversations drowning out the thoughts in his head. Not only that, but they did provide great shelter. He could easily blend in with a crowd, as long as he didn't purposely bring attention to himself.

After what couldn't have been more than ten minutes, a waitress made her way to his table. Her pink hair had been tied in a high ponytail, but despite the vibrant hair, George's eyes were more drawn to the drastic makeup she wore— not that it looked bad on her at all. He actually found it pretty cool.

"Hello, my name is Minx, and I'll be your waitress this evening," she introduced herself kindly, pulling a notepad from her apron. "Will it just be you today?"

"Seems so," he returned, "I've heard good things about this place. I decided I had to check it out."

He watched as the woman, Minx, raise a careful eyebrow. Her lips turned up in a smirk as she clicked her pen. "Really? May I ask, what have you heard?"

With a shaky breath, he settled his back more into his seat. "Good service, good food. Sounded like a good pub." His reply was rather casual, and yet, the knowing smirk still hasn't been wiped off her face. It was risky trying to find intel this way. Certainly, a simple waitress wouldn't be dealing in a scheme like this, right? He knew it wouldn't hurt to try though. "Heard the crowd around here was good, too."

"I'd certainly say the crowd around here is quite interesting. You don't seem like the kind of person who'd want to hang around here." She shifts her weight onto one leg, popping her hip as she rested a hand on it. "Maybe I'm reading you wrong? Seems like you came here alone, after all. You don't seem to be socializing with anyone."

It clicks with just one sentence. Of course, she knew something. A normal waitress would have just brushed off his simple comment like it was nothing. _Perfect._

"Maybe you are." He raised an eyebrow of his own, clicking his tongue. "I don't plan on staying around here long, socializing wouldn't get me anywhere. Just wanted to check this place out."

She nods her head, her ponytail swaying behind her. She still hasn't dropped her smile yet, and truthfully, George was starting to find it a bit unnerving. "Huh, I see," she hummed thoughtfully, turning her eyes toward something behind him. "You going anywhere special?"

"Not really. Just going with the flow, going wherever I'm sent to next."

"Sent to?" She parrots back as if she's saying the words for the first time, her eyes returning to him. In a more hushed tone, she bends down closer to the table, "you perhaps wouldn't be making your way toward the capitol, would you?"

"Maybe I will be, if that's where I'm meant to go."

Minx straightens up, her lips parting as she smiles more openly now. "I think you're on the right path. I am sure you will find where you need to be sent to from there."

There it was— _all the intel he needed_. It wasn't his first exchange he'd had with someone like this, each time they'd suggest that he'd be sent somewhere. He knew he must be on the right track to finding more information about the rebellion if he somehow kept running into all these people that hinted he'd find where he needed to be.

"I sure hope so," he says more leisurely this time as he wrings his hands on the top of the table. "In any case, can I get a water?"

"You surely will. I'll be right out with your drink."

A moment later, the waitress was gone, lost to the crowd of chairs and tables.

Peering about himself for a moment, he dug a hand into his jacket pocket, pulling out the small communication device he carried. The holographic device sprung to life at his touch. He ran his finger over the screen, typing in a series of complicated numbers before he opened his messages with Sapnap.

**Unmarked Number**   
_made it to the dinner place  
everything's situated  
are you coming soon?_

**Unmarked Number**   
_just got on the monorail  
expect me soon?_

**Unmarked Number**   
_ok  
safe travels_

**Unmarked Number  
** _i'll text you when i get there_

He pocketed his phone a moment later when Minx arrived back with a glass of water and a menu. He sat for a few moments in blissful silence as he glanced about the menu, keeping into consideration the prices. He only carried a small amount of money, it wasn't like he held a job. He couldn't, after all. All the money that he and Sapnap had managed to keep had either been found in abandoned buildings or came from the money they'd been rationed from enlisting in the army.

Having been so indulged in the text, he'd not noticed the person who'd approached his table.

"Hey, is this seat taken?"

Confused, George pulled his menu down, only to be met with piercing green eyes staring his way. A blond man, who practically towered over him stood there awkwardly, a hand pressed to the back of his neck. Despite his colorblindness, George could tell well enough his cheeks, which were dusted with a fair amount of freckles, had been tinted with a dark hue.

He was nice looking, he had to admit.

"Every other seat is kind of taken. I know this place can get kind of busy, and well, you looked nice—"

"It's not taken," he finds himself replying, despite the fact he could care less for company. He pulls his menu back up as the stranger pulls the other seat out, relying upon him a string of thank-yous as he does. "It's no problem, I'll probably be on my way soon anyway."

Pulling his menu down, deciding he'd just grab a take out order of two club sandwiches, he meets eyes with the stranger once more. The other sends him a toothy grin as he leans back into his chair. "Do you have a name?" He questions, resting his hands behind the back of his head.

Taken back by the sudden boldness, George can't help but scoff. "I don't usually give my name out to strangers," he answers, his eyes suddenly searching for the waitress.

"If I introduce myself, does that still make me a stranger?" His attention is forced back onto the stranger as he extends a hand across the table. "My name's Clay."

"Clay, as in clay block?" George can't help the way the joke leaves his lips; it's an automatic response he's picked up from Sapnap in the past few weeks they'd spent every waking moment together. When he watches the blond's eyebrows jump under his bangs, he decides it was worth the joke.

"No, Clay as in Clayton," he corrects warmly, still having yet to drop his hand. 

Giving in, George brings his gloved hand to grasp Clay's, giving it a firm shake. "Well, if you're Clay, I guess that makes me Brick."

The dry joke, despite how stupid it is, has Clay laughing into a fit of wheezing. George knows the joke wasn't funny, and even more so knows he shouldn't laugh at his own joke, but the way the stranger across from him is shamelessly wheezing into his fist has him turning his own head, laughing into his shoulder.

"That was such a stupid joke."

"You're the one who laughed, weren't you?"

Their conversation is interrupted when Minx returns, her eyes traveling to Clay with curiosity. "I see you've brought a friend?"

"Wouldn't say that," he is quick to correct her, handing her the menu back, "he just kind of sat down."

Raising a finger, Clay shook his head, causing his quite fluffy hair to bounce about. "Actually, I did ask before I sat down."

With a simple nod, Minx pulled out her notebook again. "Can I get you something, then?"

Clay orders a glass of water and a side order of fries, which George finds quite odd, but kind of amusing at the same time. When Minx turns her attention back to him, he tells her he'd like two club sandwiches to go. When she nods and disappears once more, Clay is leaning against the table.

"You came in, sat down, got a glass of water, only to get take out?"

George raises an eyebrow at Clay. "You're nosy, aren't you?"

"I wouldn't say I'm nosy, I would simply say I'm observant. Besides, doesn't getting take out defeat the purpose of coming in and sitting down?"

Clay genuinely looks confused. His eyebrows are turned down, his nose scrunched slightly— honestly, George kind of finds it endearing, but then again he barely interacts with anyone other than Sapnap. George would probably find a rock endearing at this point.

"I was just waiting on a friend, needed to kill some time," he explains vaguely, knowing well enough he couldn't open in the slightest to a stranger.

The two fall into idle conversation after some time. Clay, as George finds out rather quickly, is remarkably talkative. He jumps from thought to thought, talking about the most random stuff. First, their conversation starts off with Clay talking about the weird interior of the pub— then he's talking about how cold his drink is— and then he's talking about some show that George has never heard about, frankly because most of his life he spent on the outer banks of Jshlatt's territory, where more of the poor population lived.

Somewhere in between their conversation, Clay receives his fries. He works at the plate, continuing their conversation as if it were nothing.

George vaguely thinks it's strange how outgoing the blond is. Who would just go around and sit with a random stranger at a pub, then initiate conversation like it was nothing? Who on Earth was ever that bold anyway?

George found he liked Clay's boldness— he also liked the way he filled the silence around them and the way he spoke, as his tone was just incredibly soothing. He often sputtered over his words, repeating phrases like 'like' and 'such' but he didn't mind. He just liked that Clay was talking to him.

As Clay was halfway through telling him some random story about yet another show he'd watched, already done with his fries, two takeaway boxes between them, George feels his communicator buzz in his pocket. Excusing himself, he quickly grabs the holographic device.

**Unmarked Number**  
 _hey sorry i'm late_  
took the wrong stop off the monorail  
come meet me outside?

 **UNMARKED NUMBER** _has shared their location._

George almost feels bad when he finds himself getting to his feet, pulling his wallet out. It had taken him some time, sure, but Sapnap found the location of the next hideout they'd be occupying for the next few days. "Sorry to cut you short, I should get going now," he explains, dropping the amount of change on the table for the two meals. "It was nice to meet you though!"

"Wait, you're going so soon?" There's a hint of disappointment in the blond's voice that George can't seem to shake. He doesn't bare to meet eyes with him as he promptly turned his head, eyes locking with the door.

"Sorry, my friend's ready to meet me. We're traveling."

"Oh?" Suddenly, the blond is getting up from his seat too, dropping a wad of change to the table from his pocket. "Where are you guys off to? I'm traveling as well. I've been stopped here for the past few days."

"To the capitol," he replies leisurely as if it were no big deal. Apparently, to the blond, it is.

"Wait, really? No way. I'm heading there too. My brother recently enlisted in the army so I'm heading up there for some family business."

George can't help the way he cringes visibly on himself. For a moment, he scolds himself for telling the truth. Then again, he thought that once he left the pub he'd never see Clay again. Would it matter the truths he spilled? As long as he didn't give him anything too big, he was sure he would be safe.

"That sounds fun," George mumbles, grabbing the takeaway boxes, rushing to leave. "Well, I wish you safe travels!"

As he begins walking to the front door, he finds that the blond is following after him. He wills himself to not sigh— wills himself to not take the blond into attention again, but suddenly there's a hand on his shoulder.

"Are you taking the Jansin Monorail, by any chance?"

He stops in his tracks, blinking owlishly at the door that's just a few steps away. He could safely say nothing like this has ever happened to him before.

"Oh, uh— yeah, I am," he replied dumbly.

The hand is suddenly gone as Clay walks in front of him, a bounce in his step. "Coincidence, I'm going to be taking that monorail too. Can I walk you there?"

George, as much as he wants to, doesn't put up a fight. He knows it'll just look suspicious if he declines the blond's offer, especially after having exchanged a nice conversation just minutes before over lunch. Perhaps if he lived under different circumstances, he wouldn't mind the company walking to the monorail, but that just was no the case.

He had his friend— his _outlaw_ of a friend, waiting for him— he who also was an _outlaw_.

He didn't need Clay trying to follow him about. He didn't need him picking up on the signs that he was obviously wanted for treason. While he didn't know Clay that well, and particularly didn't like putting too much of his trust into strangers, he assumed if he found out too much he'd blow the whistle on him.

Once they got to the monorail, George would need to find a way to shake him.

"Sure," he settles on, readjusting his grip on the takeaway boxes.

The blond takes the news happily as he walks along George's side in careful silence. Not really knowing the directions of the area, he pulled his communicator out and pulled up the maps, quickly tapping in _'Jansin Monorail'_. He'd remembered Sapnap mentioning it when they were making their plan just weeks ago.

"Oh, the nearest gate is only fifteen minutes away?" He finds himself commenting aloud. Clay hums, stepping a little closer to his side.

"Have you never been on it before?"

"No, again, just traveling. I don't tend to stay in one place for long."

Thankfully, Clay doesn't push after that. He keeps his mouth shut, tucking himself close to George's side as they cross the street. George isn't considerably used to someone invading his personal space so much, but he could make due until they made it to the monorail. They blended into the crowd together, following the traffic of bustling people on the sidewalk who walked in the general direction of their destination. True to his communicator's word, they arrived at the line in fifteen minutes.

"Next tram should be showing up in five, I think?" Clay reads aloud from one of the teleprompters. "Can't really make out what it says."

"Close enough," George decides as he pushes his way through the crowd waiting for the upcoming tram. Eventually, he finds a structural pillar to lean on and not to his surprise, Clay came running after him, leaning up against his side just a moment later.

"So, where are you heading to?" Clay finally asks, bumping his elbow into George's side. Taken back by the gesture he can't help but sidestep away from the blond, putting a good foot of space between them.

"I'm meeting with my friend so we can head out again," he claims. Out of the corner of his eyes, he can see that Clay has his head rested against the pillar, his eyes focused on the tiled ceiling above them.

"Is this where we say goodbye, then?" The question leaves his lips sadly, his eyebrows coming down in a pinch. George can't help the way he begins to frown as he watches the blond sulk against the pillar. He doesn't like the somber tone the stranger holds; they barely knew one another, and yet, Clay seemed like he didn't want their time to end.

"This is where we say goodbye." His reply holds the same melancholy tone Clay's did. If he had it his way, he'd be more friendly with people and make more friends, but when you lived on a day-to-day basis friendships didn't come easy. 

It looks like Clay wants to say more; he chews his lip, lifting his head from the wall as he looks down, but nothing comes out.

George can't help but realize how expressional the blond is, to a fault. It was like he painted his emotions on his face like a canvas, displaying to for everyone to see. Reading him, a complete stranger, came with ease. He had a harder time reading Sapnap, a friend of several years, than he did with Clay.

He was so close to coming up with some type of excuse to see a smile on his face. He wanted to reach out, tell him maybe one day they'd bump into one another again, despite the odds being one in a billion. He wanted to tell him maybe he'd be back and that they could catch up some time, but he knew it was all wishful thinking.

He'd never return to this city again. He'd make his way to the capitol with Sapnap and continue their search for the rebellion, probably to never end up in the same place twice. He knew eventually he'd be able to live with the fact that leaving Clay, a complete stranger he'd happen to have lunch with, was the right thing to do. He and Sapnap had been too careful for their plans to end now.

Instead of some half-assed fraudulent excuse he mutters, "I'm sorry." His tone is sullen as he hangs his head low, focusing on the untied strings of his shoelaces.

"Don't be sorry, you barely know me." The blond chuckles as he scuffs his feet against the concrete below them. Out of the corner of his eyes, he watches the blond's shoes carefully as they kicked back and forth. "Life goes on."

_George liked that._

"Life does go on."

They don't speak again. They don't even utter goodbyes. As the monorail trams finally arrive, they find themselves being separated in the fast-moving crowd. Before he's swept into a tram, George catches one last glance at the blond who stands a good few inches above the crowd. They make eye contact one last time before they're pulled from one another's sights.

For a moment, George mourns the loss of his temporary companion.

As he makes his way through the crowd and finds a seat squished between two older looking gentlemen, he sighs, dropping his face into his hands. He wouldn't be lonely for long at least. Soon enough, the coordinates on his phone would return him to his best friend and he'd feel whole again.

The ride is quiet, sickenly quiet at that, to the point that George desperately missed Clay's chatter.

The people around him were whispering, some plugged into earbuds humming along to music, others half awake. Despite everything going on, it was still quiet. He wished that someone would speak a little louder to catch his attention, to get his mind off whatever type of thoughts were whirling around in his head; but his prayers weren't answered.

He sits in the quiet tram for twenty minutes, tapping his feet and running his fingers along the stitching of his jeans. Anxiety rolls through him like waves as he pulls his communication device. He copies the coordinates sent to him from Sapnap and pasts them into his maps. He finds he's only a few miles away from the destination, no more than thirty or so minutes away. It wasn't bad, he'd decided, so he waited out the silence.

It hadn't been until another five minutes past that the monorail was coming to an abrupt and screeching stop. Around him, passengers who had been standing lost their balance, toppling over one another. With wide eyes, he found himself latching onto his seat as they lurched back and forth until their tram came to a full complete stop.

Never in his life had he felt such an abrupt stop like that.

His white-knuckled grip loosening, he turned ahead over his shoulder, peering out the window behind him. To his surprise, they were still suspended over the city, nowhere close to a docking gate.

Before anyone can question what's happening, the doors open with a loud hiss around them. The tram shakes as booming footsteps echo about them, seemingly coming from the top of the tram. The people around him start to shout, looking up as if the school was falling.

With a shaky breath, George found himself tugging at the collar of his jacket, pulling the hood over his head and making sure that his neck was covered.

_This wasn't some accidental stop._

In the nauseating moments that followed, George found himself standing, his eyes scanning the tram. He'd refused to take a look around when he'd sat down, too lost in thought, but now that he looked around, his eyes caught onto the familiar blond he'd parted with not long ago. He was standing in the corner of the tram, his hand above his head as he held onto one of the many handles of the cart. His head was tilted upward, his jaw dropped and his eyes wide. He looked petrified.

Taking in a deep breath, George found himself tiptoeing through the standing passengers. He didn't dare say a word as he slipped between them, his eyes only set on the blond, the one familiar person he had with him.

His one fear had come true that day. He'd been separated from Sapnap, and something was happening. Deep in his bones, he could feel it— he could see it in the anxiety that the passengers radiated— he could hear it in the booming footsteps that were encasing them— he could sense it that danger was coming.

It took him no more than twenty steps to make it to Clay's side. Their shoulders brushed awkwardly as George tried to subtly grab the blond's attention. Turning his head downwards, they met eyes.

"What do you think's happening?" Clay questioned as he bent down enough to whisper his concern into George's ear.

"Don't know, but I don't like it."

They stood huddled together, George tucked under the blond's arm as he held on tightly to the handle above him. The footsteps were coming closer and closer with every second. The shouting from the passengers had yet to cease, which only created more tension.

It only took one moment for the tram to break out in absolute chaos. One simple blink and everything had gone to shambles.

Their tram was being invaded by men in black garments. From head to toe, they were clad in tight-fitting clothes, each wearing vests accompanied with loaded guns. As they swung in from the open doors, they pulled their guns, pointing them to the unarmed civilians in a blink of an eye.

_Jshlatt's elite army._

George's jaw dropped at the sight of them— dropped at the sudden aggression that was thrown toward innocent people. Even from above him, he could hear Clay audibly gasp, taking a step closer to him. With a gulp, he wrang his hands together in front of him, willing his eyes to land anywhere but on any of them.

"Everyone, remain calm!" An ugly hoarse voice shouted out from the other end of their tram, directing their attention. "We want everyone to cooperate. Listening to us will make this a whole lot easier, do you understand?"

As more and more army members filled into the tram, George found himself on the other end of a gun. He didn't visibly react as he looked the gun down the barrel. He didn't even react when he felt Clay's arm come across his chest protectively, pulling him against him in one swift motion, shielding him from the man.

"We've caught word there are rebels moving aboard this tram. We're going to stay here all night until we weed out every single one of you."

A breath of relief escaped him. He was no rebel— he was an _outlaw,_ a traitor, if you will. They weren't here for him. All he could do was practically collapse into Clay's arms at the realization, the blond reluctantly pulling him in with both arms. Despite being cradled in the arms of a stranger, he still found comfort.

He wasn't going to die today. Today was not his day. He'd have another chance to see Sapnap. He had more time to find shelter for his friend— to find him a place where he could peacefully live out the rest of his life— _if that place even existed._

"Would these rebels like to reveal themselves now and save everyone a whole lot of pain, or are they going to make this more difficult?"

No one moved. It didn't even sound like anyone was breathing despite the hundred people that had been trapped in just this single tram.

"So we're going with the hard way, huh?"

Suddenly, the soldiers around them were moving, each plucking a random person from the group. George watched in petrified silence as the soldier who stood before him moved to grab a young child that had been clinging to her mother, telling her to shut up as she wailed for her mother's embrace.

"Reveal yourself, or they die."

A total of twelve people had been plucked from the crowd around them; each of them varying in sex and age. An old woman, a young child— a man who could barely stand, a boy who looked to be about seven.

George couldn't help the way his eyes widened in horror, watching as the soldiers brought their guns to the backs of their heads.

"I'm giving you ten seconds. We don't have time for this."

Suddenly, he was counting down. The tram broke into hysterics as they yelled and pleaded for the rebels to reveal themselves. The crowds were moving, trying to move against the soldiers, but their efforts went to waste. As the man counted down the last numbers, George found that he still hadn't moved— still hadn't said a word. He had the power to do something— but then he'd risk exposing who he truly was— and there was no way he could take on the number of soldiers there were in a crowded tram.

He didn't have the time to make his mind up and do something. Before the man could even hit one, a series of gunshots were being fired.

Frightened screams tore through the air.

With a broken gasp, George was turning his head into Clay's shoulder, clamming his eyes shut.

The screams didn't stop. They echoed, repeating over and over again in George's head.

He'd seen people die before— he'd been the cause of many deaths too— but _this_ was too much. None of them stood on equal grounds. These were innocent people, defenseless. It didn't matter if there were rebels aboard or not— they were purposely attacking the public.

"Oh my God—" Clay rasped out from above him, pulling him in closer. The chaos around them only ignited as the seconds ticked by.

"Do we need another round?"

The crowd around them screamed. They shouted and pleaded that this wasn't necessary. Angry people yelled out to the rebels, telling them to turn themselves in. All that happened was that they'd managed to turn on one another, pushing and shoving at random people— accusing them as the rebel.

Anxiety was boiling in George's system. He had to do something, right? 

He couldn't be selfish this time— he couldn't have more people die.

"Another round it is."

He didn't realize it was happening until he found a foot at his chest. He went barreling to the ground, the breath being knocked out of him as he watched one of the soldiers pull Clay by the back of his hoodie, pulling him into the middle of the tram.

The blond thrashed in the hold of the soldier, yelling and screaming— but they didn't listen as they pulled their gun to the back of his head. The moment the barrel touched the crown of his head, he was silencing himself, his eyes flying over to George. _Desperate— needy— scared._ He never watched so many emotions flash across someone's face before in such a short amount of time.

Suddenly, he's back on that battlefield, running to Sapnap's lifeless body.

He couldn't watch another innocent life be taken in front of him because some rebels didn't want to come forward.

He's scrambling to his feet, ignoring the firey burning sensation in his chest. The moment he stands, his hood falls down to his shoulders. The soldier holding Clay turns to him, raising his eyebrows.

"What, are you going to do something?"

He blinked at the soldier, willing himself to no burst into tears. He felt like he was back on that battlefield, pushing the life force of the world around him back into Sapnap with all the energy he could muster. His heart was racing, his hands trembling as he pushed his blunt fingernails into his palms.

He turned to Clay, whose eyes were still latched onto him desperately. "You trust me, right?" The words left his mouth before he could stop him. The soldier didn't have time to question him as Clay answered with a blunt 'yes.'

"Good."

Despite his much smaller stance compared to the soldier, George had one upper hand; _the element of surprise._

He surged forward without thinking, grabbing onto the hand that held the gun, and yanked it down. A shot rang, but the bullet missed its target and only made a sad hole into the floor. The soldier swore, trying to rid himself of George's grip, but miserably failed. With more fire in his system, George was moving forward, landing an upper punch into the soldier's jaw.

It was enough to knock him to the floor. In the commotion, George was able to seize the gun.

With wide eyes and shaky hands, he was bringing the gun up, pointing it to the surprised Clay who blinked back at him like he'd seen a ghost.

"Well, this was a turn of events," someone exclaims, but he doesn't move his eyes from Clay. _Betrayal_ — that's all he can see written across the other's face. "Have we found one of the rebels?"

"Move toward the door," he mutters, not tearing his eyes away from the blond. 

Throwing his head over his shoulder, Clay looked out to the open door which lead to a pretty hefty drop. "What, are you crazy?" Despite the words he spoke, he backed up, causing the crowd around them to part. He backed up until he was nearly two steps from the entrance, his eyes the size of saucers.

Footsteps were making their way to them. As he glanced over his own shoulder, he caught sight of several guns pointed his way as one of the soldiers marched toward them.

He didn't think.

He acted.

Without a warning, George was dropping the gun, running toward Clay in a tackling motion.

The two of them went flying out the tram door with a twin set of yelps. As his hands collided with Clay's shoulders, arms were wrapping around his back, pulling the two of them close together.

George didn't focus on Clay's screaming in his ears as they plummeted down to the city several stories below— he focused on the air around them, pictured it encasing them. This was a risky move, one he hadn't practiced in months— but he had no other choice. They'd either die from bullet wounds or the drop.

He welcomed the tingling sensation that greeted him as he closed his eyes. Even behind his closed eyelids, he could see the golden light spilling around the two of them.

He urged the energy around them to catch them— to somehow slow their descent. He prayed to whatever god was listening that even with his small amount of training, he'd be able to save the both of them from becoming street pancakes.

It felt like the world had slowed from that moment on. Opening his eyes carefully, George glanced down to the boy beneath him who had gone stiflingly silent. He noticed that the ground was getting closer— but much slower.

When they did reach the street, still feeling a good burden of the fall, George couldn't help but watch the golden light dissipate around them in awe to the fact they were both still alive.

"Oh my God," Clay spoke shakily from beside him. "You— you just saved my life."


End file.
